Finally-FINALLY-I have been able to write up the final chapter to Kryvokk's entry in the DOTOR series. This one's a bit darker, but hopefully you'll enjoy nonetheless.
DISCLAIMER: I own most of the characters in this story. Any other names of characters or planets are owned by Lucasarts and Bioware.
Chapter 3:
Rusain's cantina, sporting the name "THE AQUA CLUB", was rather easy to find. Once there, however, Kryvokk paid no attention to the large holographic banner over the entrance, instead simply shooting the two bouncers outside the door. The young hunter then strolled through the door as if he owned it, Trila following with a significantly greater degree of caution. Kryvokk fired his blaster into the air, quickly attracting the attention of every patron.
"Which one of you scumbags is Rusain Shum?" Kryvokk called.
"Ha!" a Mon Calamari patron laughed. "What's it matter to a little runt like—"
The Mon Calamari was unable to finish his sentence due to Kryvokk casually shooting him between the eyes. Trila's eyes widened, but she quickly regained her composure once Kryvokk pointed his gun into the crowd.
"Do I seriously need to repeat myself?" he sighed. "Where. Is. Rusain. Shum?"
Now fairly intimidated, most of the patrons pointed to the back. Kryvokk shrugged and pressed on, Trila following suit with an observant eye. The young hunter approached a door, but it failed to open.
"This door has a keypad locking mechanism," Trila noticed, cracking her knuckles. "If you'll give me a few minutes, I can open this door with—"
She was cut off when Kryvokk simply took out his blaster and shot the keypad, the resulting electrical feedback causing the door to open.
"Or I could do that and save us a ton of time," Kryvokk said. "You comin' or what?"
He entered into Rusain's private quarters, where the Karkarodon was busy enjoying a holo of a dancing Twi'lek woman. Shum saw movement out the corner of his eye, and upon turning his head, his dark eyes widened.
"Oi!" Shum barked in a surprisingly clear accent. "What do you think you're doin', mate?! You can't just barge in here and say 'g'day'! Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah, you're seafood," Kryvokk grunted, promptly shooting Shum in the head and allowing his corpse to fall to the floor.
"You killed him," Trila remarked, her voice sounding as if she was restraining her horror.
"And?" Kryvokk asked.
"I never specified that I wanted him dead," Trila answered. "You could have just taken him to the proper authorities."
"This is Nar Shaddaa you're talking about, lady," Kryvokk said as he rummaged through Shum's clothes. "You said this pile of crap had slaves?"
"Yes, but…wait, what do you intend to do with them?" Trila asked.
"Won't matter if I don't find 'em first," Kryvokk said. He attempted to leave, but his client gripped his arm.
"Slaves are a delicate matter," Trila said sternly. "I will gladly help you, but I need to know what you want with the slaves before I do so."
Kryvokk sighed.
"Fine," he said. "I'm gonna set them free."
"Really?" Trila said with a raised eyebrow. "Why is that? If you sold the slaves, you could easily make more money."
"Just because I'm a bounty hunter doesn't mean I don't have standards," Kryvokk shrugged.
"Very well," Trila nodded. She pulled a circular device out of her pocket, and upon touching it with a finger, a holographic map of Shum's cantina appeared. "The slaves will be further in this facility. We should hurry. Thanks to your handiwork, it will not be long before someone notices Rusain's demise."
Soon, Kryvokk and Trila came across a row of cylindrical force-field cages. Most were surprisingly empty, save one that contained a young Chiss with untidy black hair. The Chiss looked up at them suspiciously, revealing numerous scars and burns that were etched all over his face.
"What?" he blinked. "Who are you supposed to be?"
"My name is Trila," the Imperial agent said calmly. "Kryvokk here works for me. We have come to free you and any other slaves Rusain Shum has kept."
"Like I'll believe that?" the Chiss snorted. "No one in this galaxy would bother to help some slave."
Kryvokk walked over to the cage and pressed a button, causing the barrier to fade away, much to the Chiss' surprise.
"Wait, what?" the Chiss gasped. "You're…actually setting me free?"
"Sure, why not?" Kryvokk shrugged. "Hey, kid, you got a name?"
"I used to," the Chiss snorted bitterly as he stood up, revealing a silver slave collar around his neck. "I used to be called Vam'erzada'kiraxo—Merzedak to my friends—but my so-called father sold me into slavery. Now I'm just a number that Rusain thinks he can torture to his twisted heart's content."
"That's awful," Trila remarked. "Why would your father do such a thing?"
"None of your business, Imp!" Merzedak snapped, making as if to strike her. Kryvokk, however, quickly pointed his blaster to Merzedak's temple.
"You want to live?" he asked. "Then get out of here and leave my client alone."
"…fine," Merzedak relented. "I guess I can respect that."
Kryvokk hit another button on the cage, and Merzedak's slave collar disconnected and fell off of his neck.
"Well…thanks for giving me a chance," the Chiss said, cautiously treading out of his cage. "Now I can finally get an identity again...and I'll make my father's precious Empire pay for what he did to me! And I'll flatten anyone who gets in my way!"
Merzedak charged out, leaving Trila and Kryvokk alone.
"Well…I must say, Kryvokk," Trila remarked, "I am impressed. You finished the job I gave you in record time, and you also went the extra distance to free the target's slaves."
"Just give me the money," Kryvokk ordered.
"Hold on a moment," Trila said, putting her hand on Kryvokk's shoulder. The bounty hunter glanced at it awkwardly, as if he expected it to suddenly strangle him. "Kryvokk Ondeth…your skills are undeniably exceptional, and your tactics—however unorthodox they may be—are nonetheless effective."
"So?" Kryvokk grunted.
"So I want to give you a chance to work for something bigger than the Empire," Trila said. "I want you to work for the Republic."
"Huh? What did you say?" Kryvokk blinked, looking at her as if she had grown some odd limb out of her eye. "Did someone who works for the Empire just say I should work for the Republic?"
"I…must confess that I deceived you," Trila admitted, her accent disappearing.
"Oh, great, conspiracy crap," Kryvokk groaned. "Let me guess, your name isn't really Trila Karath, is it?"
"Actually, that part was true," Trila said. "But I work for the Republic. I took on an Imperial guise so that I could more easily recruit mercenaries to the Republic's cause."
"Thought the Republic didn't like using mercs?" Kryvokk said with a raised eyebrow.
"As a whole, they don't," Trila said. "I, however, believe that unorthodox tactics are necessary to fight a foe such as the Empire."
"And since I'm 'unorthodox', you want me to fight said Empire?" Kryvokk guessed.
"That's part of it," Trila said, taking Kryvokk's empty hand in both of hers. "Kryvokk, I want to heal you. You are clearly suffering, and I want to help you. If you work with the Republic, we can work together to end this miserable war."
One of her hands drifted up to Kryvokk's face.
"Please…will you accept?" Trila pleaded.
Kryvokk initially felt the need to refuse. After all, the Republic was supported by the Jedi, especially the one who killed his family. And then…he felt something odd. It was a strange feeling that was flowing through his body, calming and serene. He closed his eyes as his desires began to change. Perhaps working with the Republic wouldn't be so bad? After all, did every Jedi really have to die? Could he not make it work? Perhaps he could even train alongside the Padawans in the use of the Force, despite his age.
And then a realization hit him.
Kryvokk's eyes snapped open as he kneed Trila in the stomach, punching her in the jaw and throwing her into the nearest wall. A dazed Trila looked up to see Kryvokk's blaster pointing in her face.
"Your answer's 'no', Jedi," he spat.
"J-Jedi?" Trila stuttered. "W-what are you talking about?"
Kryvokk clubbed her upside the head with his blaster.
"Quit playing dumb," he growled. "You were using the Force to try and make me think the way you wanted me to."
His snarling face came close to hers.
"I would never think about training to be a Jedi," he growled. "Not unless something was screwing with my mind."
"I…er…all right, you win," Trila sighed. "I am a Jedi, but not a Knight. I am only a Padawan. I wanted to use unorthodox tactics against the Empire because I saw that how useless the Republic's current tactics were. But Kryvokk, please, you must understand, I'm not like Ovan Zeeloss! He killed your parents, not me!"
"You really think I care?" Kryvokk snorted, kicking Trila again, this time to the side. He kicked her out into the room where Shum's corpse remained, pausing only to pick up Merzedak's discarded slave collar.
"Kryvokk…please, don't do this!" Trila begged, but Kryvokk only snapped the slave collar around her neck.
"What was that?" Kryvokk smirked, removing a small cylindrical device from Shum's body. "Couldn't hear you."
He activated the device, and electricity suddenly coursed through Trila's body. Convulsing madly as she screamed in pain, her body flopped across the floor, dropping a small vibroknife in the process.
"Oh, now, what do we have here?" Kryvokk grinned, picking up the vibroknife. "This ought to be fun."
"Kryvokk…please…why?" Trila panted.
"Because this is the best part of my job," Kryvokk grinned like a Nexu with a fresh kill, raising the vibroknife over his head. "Now, hold still so I can make this hurt like hell."
"Hey, kid," said a hologram of a balding man much later. "It's been a while. How's things with you?"
"Hey, Braden. They're not bad," Kryvokk shrugged, holding his holocommunicator in his hand as he leaned on a wall. "Just about to buy up some gear for the Great Hunt."
"You're gonna need it," Braden said. "The Great Hunt was just called. I need you on Nal Hutta as soon as possible."
"So, now's when I get to be a bigger name in hunting, right?" Kryvokk asked.
"That's if you actually win," Braden smirked. "Now, grab some gear and get on the nearest shuttle. We've got a hunt to win."
Kryvokk nodded with a smirk, deactivating his holocommunicator and leaving the scene of Rusain's cantina. Inside, the unconscious and battered—but still living—body of Trila Karath slowly reached for her own holocommunicator. Her body felt torment across every inch, and a large bloody gash was present where one of her eyes used to be.
The last of her strength faded from her, however, and she limply dropped her holocommunicator. Soon after, a group of black-garbed Imperial troopers entered.
"What in the—what happened here?" one trooper gasped.
"Something nasty, I'd wager," a second trooper replied. "Commander, what should we do about that woman?"
"Get her to a medical center," the commander ordered. "The Empire may have a use for her."